\ 




Glass — 

Book^ - -^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



The Wind-Swept 
Wheat 

POEMS BY 
MARY AINGE De VERE 

"MADELINE BRIDGES" 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

1904 



Copyright. X903. by Mary Ainge De Vera 
AH Rights Reserved 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

APR 19 1904 
Copyright Entry 

Oil ASS c^XXo. No. 

^ ^ s -I- -^ 

COPY B 



K 



Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U. s. A. 



TO 

Edmund Clarence Stedman 






CONTENTS 

The Wind-Swept Wheat. 9 

Poet and Lark. lo 

Love's Hour. 1 1 

The Spinner. 1 2 

The False Oracle. 1 3 

The Docks at Night. 14 

Love's Messengers. i^ 

Learning the News. 16 

Unrecognized. 1 7 

Where? i/ 

Sad Spring. 19 

Incredulity. 18 

The Rose. 1 9 

Not Thine, nor Mine. ^^ 

Baby. 21 

The Soul's Quest 23 

When the Most is Said. 24 

The Newsboy. 25 

Her Milking Pail. -^ 



Conjunctions. 
Love's Waking. 

The Song of the Brook. 

Once. 

The Postman. 

In Absence. 

My Love. 

Missent. 

Faith Trembling. 

If. 

Two Lovers. 

Rose and Violet. 

Auspicium. 

A Marriage. 

Confession. 

My Lost Self. 

The Poppy's Fault. 

A Woman's Thought. 

Good-Bye, Sweetheart. 

The Unseen Guide. 45 

The Touch of Spring. 46 

A Farewell. 45 



27 
28 
29 
31 

33 
34 
34 

36 

^7 

17 
l^ 
19 
40 

41 
42 
43 
44 



My Sweetheart's Face. 47 

Contradiction. 4^ 

Fate and Lace Work. 49 

A Valentine. 50 

A Free Slave. 5 i 

Reflected Light. 5 i 

At the Last. 5 2 

A Wound. 53 

A Bridal. 54 

Beside the Sea. 5 5 

In the Sitter's Chair. 56 

A Broken Thread. 58 

j^ily__The Year's Sweetheart. 59 

A Chord. 60 

Autumn Music. 61 

My Little Wife. 62 

Wherever You Are. 63 

Since Yesterday. 65 

Inland. ^7 

Years of Discretion. ^4 

A Breath. ^4 

The Poet's Wife. 68 



The Crocus. 69 

Sea Lovers. 70 

First and Last. ^2 

The Endless Story. to 

A Quiet House. ^ . 
A Woman's Gifts. 

Blue Eyes and Brown. ^5 



We Two. 
Wild Violets. 
Peggy. 



Life's Mirror. 



78 
80 
79 



Friend and Lover. 80 

Andy's Widda. 81 

A Graduate. %i 

What Gladys Said. 83 

A Merry Christmas. 84 

Bestowals. g^ 



87 



Translations. 91 



THE WIND-SWEPT WHEAT 

Faint, faint and clear, 

Faint as the music that in dreams we hear, 

Shaking the curtain-fold of sleep 

That shuts away 

The world's hoarse voice, the sights and sounds 

of day, 
Her sorry joys, her phantoms false and fleet — 
So softly, softly stirs 
The winds low murmur in the rippled wheat. 

From west to east 

The warm breath blows, the slender heads 

droop low 
As if in prayer, 

Again, more lightly tossed in merry play 
They bend and bow and sway 
With measured beat. 
But never rest — through shadow and through 

sun 
Goes on the tender rustle of the wheat. 

Dreams, more than sleep 

Fall on the listening heart, and lull its care ; 

Dead years send back 

Some treasured, unforgotten time 

Ah, long ago! 

When sun and sky were sweet 

In happy noon — 

We stood breast high, 'mid waves of ripened 

grain 
And heard the wind make music in the wheat. 



Not for today — 

Not for this hour alone, the melody 

So soft and ceaseless, thrills the dreamer's ear. 

Of all that was and is — of all that yet shall be 

It holds a part. 

Love, sorrow, longing, pain, 

The restlessness that yearns, 

The thirst that burns. 

The bliss that like a fountain, overflows, 

The deep repose. 

Good that we might have known, but shall not 

know — 
The hope God took — the joy he made complete 
Life's chords all answer from the wind-swept 

wheat ! 



POET AND LARK 

W^hen leaves turn outward to the light. 
And all the roads are fringed with green., 
When larks are pouring high, unseen, 
The joy they feel in song and flight, 

Then, I, too, with the lark would wing 
My little flight, and soaring, sing. 

When larks drop downward to the nest, 
And day drops downward to the sea, 
And song and wing are fain to rest, 
The lark's dear wisdom guideth me, 
And I, too, turn within my door 
Content to dream, and sing no more. 



LOVE'S HOUR 

I.ove cried to Life "Sweetheart, take hnncl- 

with me 
Leave strife and traffic, toil and busy mart 
Swift wheels on land, deep laden ships on sea 
Thou know'st not yet, how fair, how great thou 

art 
Till I have kissed and crowned thy kingly head, 
Thou canst not know" — Love, in sweet plead- 
ing, said. 

And Life looked, smiling, but with anxious 

brow 
As one, through tears might gaze at some soft 

flower 
"Thou child of sun and dew, what sayest thou ? 
I have no time for thee, save one brief hour." 
Then Love, too, smiled, with fond eyes as be- 

tore 
"One hour, sweetheart? . . I have not asked 

for more!" 



THE SPINNER 

The spinner twisted her slender thread 

A s she sat, and spun ; 

**'J he earth and the heavens, are mine," she said, 

**And the moon and sun, 

Into my web the sunlight goes, 

And the breath of May — 

And the crimson life of the new-blowti rose 

That was bom to-day." 

The spinner sang in the hush of noon 

And her song was low, 

"Ah morning, you pass away too soon, 

You are swift to go. 

My heart o'er-flows like a brimming cup 

With its hopes and fears — 

Love, come and drink the sweetness up 

Ere it turn to tears." 

The spinner looked at the falling sun. 

"Is it time to rest ? 

My hands are weary — my work is done, 

I have wrought my best — 

I have spun and woven with patient eyes. 

And with fingers fleet — 

Lo! where the toil of a lifetime lies 

In a winding sheet !" 



THE FALSE ORACLE 

She picked a little daisy flower 

With fringe of snow and heart of gold, 
All pure without, and warm within, 

And stood to have her fortune told. 

"He loves me," low, she musing said, 

And plucked the border, leaf by feaf, 

"A little — too much — not at all — 

With fullest heart, beyond belief." 

"A little— too much— not at all," 

So rang the changes o'er and o'er, 

The tiny leaflets fluttered down. 

And strewed the meadow's grassy floor. 

"A little — too much — not at all, 

With fullest heart," oh, magic brief ! 

Ah, foolish task, to measure out 
Love's value, on a daisy leaf. 

For as she plucked the latest left 

With "not at all," I heard her say, 
"Ah, much you know, you silly flower, 
H^e'll love me till his dying day." 



13 



THE DOCKS AT NIGHT 

The full tides lap on the rough, dark piers 
As strong as fate and as salt as tears ; 
The wind blows in from the outer bay, 
Moist with the chill of the ocean spray ; 
And here, where the round red sun goes down 
Come the tired crowds of the toiling town. 

The last warm flush of the sunset fire 
Dies slowly away, from roof and spire ; 
The further shore is a misty dream, 
Save for the bright fixed lights that gleam, 
And the floating lamps of the boats that go 
On the ferry pathways, to and fro. 

Faint with the long day's scorching heat, 
From stifling alley and dusty street. 
In eager swarms, through the twilight dim, 
They throng to the river's tranquil brim. 
And feel the breath of its vesper calm 
Like benediction of prayer and psalm. 

Here in this place, astir all day 

With loaded wagon and lumbering dray, 

The mothers sit and the babies sleep. 

And the toddling urchins roll and creep, 

And the fathers smoke with their brown arms 

bare 
And brown chests stripped to the friendly air. 

Boys and girls at their noisy plays, 

Race and scamper a dozen ways ; 

And lovers, with clinging hand in hand, 



H 



Saunter slowly, or loitering, stand 

To watch, where the shadowy sails go by 

Like gliding ghosts, betwixt wave and sky. 

And the vast night deepens,with blue on blue 
Mid rifted clouds where the stars shine through ; 
And sweeter, fresher the breeze blows in — 
God's breath of healing for care and sin ; 
While the full tides lap on the rough, dark 

piers 
As strong as fate and as salt as tears ! 

LOVE'S, MESSENGERS 

Who will tell him ? who will teach him ? 
Have you voices, merry birds ? 
Then be voice for me and read him 
With a thousand pleading words — 
Sing my secret east and west 
Till his answer be confessed. 

Roses, when you see him coming 
Light of heart and strong of limb^ 
Make your lover-bees stop hummmg, 
Turn your blushes round to him, 
Blush, dear flowers — that he may learn 
How a woman's heart can burn. 

Wind — oh wind — you happy rover ; 

Oh, that I were half as free ; 

Leave your honey-bells and clover, 

Go and seek my love for me. 

Find, — kiss — clasp him, make him know 

It is / who love him so ! 



LEAR^NING THE NEWS 

"What's the news, my neighbor, what's the 

news ?" 
"There's no news, my neighbor, truly — none, 
All is well with me — with work begun, 
With wife and children, crops, and lambs and 
ewes." 

"Thanks to God, then — there's no better word, 
If the home be safe and plenty there. 
Look you! beyond the maple, comes a pair 
Of gay young lovers, where the corn is stirred. ' 

"Aye, aye ! Love has its place, like falling seed, 
Like fruit that ripens, and like tides that roll, 
It seems but yesterday when we, too, stole 
From gaze of older folk, through field and 
mead. 

Ah, we're still yoimg enough their dream to 

share ! 
We'll turn aside, to chat, the while they pass. 
The bashful couple — foolish lad and lass. 
But — faith! I know that gown, that braided 

hair." 

"And I the cap — the jacket! See, they choose 
The other path. Perhaps they fear to tell — 
Your girl, my boy: — and lovers? — well — Well 

-^well! 
At least, my neighbor, we have learned some 

news I" 



i6 



UNRECOGNIZED 

What words are these you speek to her ? 

Ah, tranquil words, and worldly wise! 
You cannot see her soul astir, 

On tiptoe, in her waiting eyes. — 

You come and go — you touch her hair, 
The ring upon her slender hand ; 

The smiling trouble of her air, 
You note, but cannot understand. 

You cannot understand. Ah, so 

Our foolish hearts make sport of Fate ! 

We sit, and dream, while love bends low 
A kingly beggar, at the gate. 

WHERE? 

Love cried to Constancy "Oh, stay with me 
Past the sad changing years, till hair be white 
And lost the dear remembrance of delight — 
All will be well, whate'ers the time or place 
So thou but stay with me." . . Then, in love's 

lifted face 
Looked Constancy, sad smiling, "Stay with 
thee. 
Thou winged sprite? . . Alas, where wilt thou 
be?" 



17 



INCREDULITY 

You love my soul? It may be so; 

But answer me, and speak the truth : 
What spark can kindle passion's glow 

Apart from youth ? 

If I were changed by time and care, 

Grown old, and sorrow-wise, and cold, 

With silver gleaming from my hair 
In place of gold. 

And all this lovely outward mask 

Of bloom and freshness laid aside. 

The while my soul, by toil and task 
Thrice purified, 

Strong in her immortality. 

Made beautiful by love and trust. 
Eager, as prisoned bird, to flee 

Her house of dust, — 

Oh, you — would you come sighing still, 
In hope and fear, heart-gifts to bring? 

A master kneeling to my will, 

A servant who would fain be king? 

And would you covet day by day 

My lightest word, and look, and touch? 

Ah, friend, forgive me if I say, 
I doubt it much ! 



i8 



THE ROSE 

Out of the bud the bright rose bloweth 
And all the soul of her sweetness goeth 

Abroad to the sun, and wind, and rain; 
But ah, ah never, in any weather 

Can she fold up her leaves together 
And close herself in a bud again. 

But if the sun and wind be sweeter 

And summer's beautiful dress completer 

Because of the rose's graceful part, 
Were it not wiser far, and better, 

Than, closed and locked in her fair green fetter, 
To die, with an untouched virgin heart ? 



SAD SPRING 

Sometime green leaves will grow and happy 

birds 
Find glad new songs, to sing beside the nest. 
Sometime again, the wind will breathe sweet 

words 
Among the blossomed trees, from east to west. 

But ah, but ah, when violets bud and blow 
Upon a grave . . . when birds their music pour 
While one dear nest is empty — I think that so 
Spring must be sad to me forever-more. 



19 



NOT THINE, NOR MINE 

Not thine to give, nor mine, dear heart, to take 
The love that, lost between us, lies unowned — 
While we two stand, with yearning eyes that 

ache, 
And lips that thirst, and asking hearts that 

break ; 
We, for sin's sweetness, had we thus atoned 
Might hold our souls up, white, as God's own 

soul. 
But of long self-denial, struggle, prayer, 
And truest chastity, this is the dole, — 
This bare, bleak poverty. . . . We stand and 

wait. 
Outcast to beggary, nor dare complain — 
Though, still before our eyes, tempting and 

fair. 
To make us rich as ransomed kings — aye, more ! 
Happy as angels within heaven's door — 
The unclaimed treasure mocks us — useless, 

vain — 
Low, in the common dust where it was thrown, 
Not mine, nor thine, yet once our very own ! 



BABY 

Baby, baby on my breast 
Oh my little one, sleep sound, 
While the red clouds light the west 
And the bright leaves light the ground 
Mother's love is round you here — 
God's love, too, is close and near, 
Full and happy be your rest. 
Baby — baby on my breast! 

Baby, baby at my knee 
Lift your eyes up, let them show 
All the dreams I cannot see — 
Talk and tell me — make me know — 
How the world's dim puzzles seem, 
To your young soul's waking dream. 
Bring your marvels all to me 
Baby, baby at my knee. 

Baby, baby by my side 
Ah, your cheek just reaches mine, 
So — time will not be denied — 
Glossy braids are smooth and fine, 
And I read within your eves, 
Womanhood's fair mysteries — 
Baby — Baby — ^by my side, 
Tall enough to be a bride! 



Baby — baby — far from me 

Lines of care have crossed your brow, 

Little children climb your knee 

Fill your heart and household, now — 

"Mother" is my baby's name — 

Yet, to me, she's still the same; 

Still the child I rocked to rest, 

As a baby on my brest ! 



THE DIFFERENCE 

Touch me, clasp me, and hold me fast 

But warm and near as your love may hold me 

And close as your clinging clasp may fold me 
Time laughs it away, and it cannot last. 

Grieve me, leave me, but, if you give 
The thought of your heart, in any fashion, 

In words of wisdom or words of pass'on. 
It stays with me, while I breathe and live. 



THE SOUL'S QUEST 

A soul slipped into heaven, and fared, seeking 
high and low 
Among the chosen stainless throng, where 
stand the good and fair, 
With child-like brows, and still, calm lips, and 
garments white as snow^ — 
The radiance dazzled his sad eyes. His poor 
love was not there. 

"Whom dost thou seek? they asked of him. 
Ashamed, he hung his head. 
"One chaste and noble, high of aim?" 
Trembling, he answered, "No: 
A little human creature, full of sin," he, sob- 
bing said. 
"She loved me, and I seek her here because 
—I loved her so!" 

Then, at the word, out came to him the fairest 
of the band — 
"Look in my face!" He looked and knelt. 
"Yea, I have been forgiven ; 
Rise, thou, and ask forgiveness" — she drew 
him by the hand. 
"Ask, in Love's name; you will receive. 
Love is the gate of heaven !" 



»3 



WHEN THE MOST IS SAID 

What's love, when the most is said ? The flash 

of the lighting fleet, 
Then, darkness that shrouds the soul — but the 

earth is firm to my feet. 
The rocks and the tides endure, the grasses and 

herbs return. 
The path to my foot is sure, and the sods to my 

bosom yearn. 

What's fame when the truth is told? A shout 

to a distant hill. 
The craigs may echo a while, but fainter, and 

fainter, still — 
Vet, forever the wind blows wide, the sweetness 

of all the skies. 
The rain cries and the snow flies, and the storm 

in its bosom lies. 

What's life, what's life, little heart? A dream 

when the night are long. 
Toil in the waking days — tears, and a kiss a 

song: 
What's life? what's life, little heart? To beat 

and be glad of breath 
'A'hile death waits on either side, before and 

behind us, Death ! 



THE NEWSBOY 

God's grace be with you, fearless elf ! 

The city streets are strange and wild, 
And yet, quite by your dauntless self, 

You tread the mazes, little child! 
The sea's blue dream is in your eyes, 

Your brown cheek shows health's ruddy rose 
And where the deepest crimson lies, 

A baby dimple comes and goes. 

I watch you as you dive and dart 

Over the roadway's crowded space. 
Hanging on car and dodging cart, — 

A gamin, with a cherub's face, 

A gamin, with a cherub's soul! 

Twas such a little time ago 
You slipped the angel's sweet control, 

Earth's fitful, wearying life to know. 

What is there in the years for you? 

The place of master, or of slave? 
Good to attain, or ill to rue? 

Perchance, a tiny wayside grave. 
Oh, sm.all, strong soul ! yet life seems gay 

Where your feet pass ; nnd greed and pelf 
Pause, as I pause, to smile and say 

"God's grace be with you, fearless elf !" 



HER MILKING PAIL 

When Doris took her milking pail 
To cross the dewy meadow ; 

The eastern sky was golden pale, 
The valley lay in shadow ; 

I followed slowly, not too near. 

And softly, lest the maid should hear. 

The wet, white daisies bent to touch 
Her slender foot, and kiss it ; — 

I envied them this pleasure, much, 
Since I'd been doomed to miss it ; 

And thought the flowers were treated far 
More kindly than some lovers are ! 

Behind a thorn I stood to watch 

Her coax the cow, and chide her ; 

And humming at a merry catch, 
Set the small stool beside her; 

While freshly, as she could have wished 

The milk through dimpled fingers swished. 

Thought I, 'This chance I must not miss ! 

Her milk pail home I'll carry ; — 
And in return, demand a kiss, 

For milkmaids are not chary; 
The poets sing: If swains be brave, 
Hence, my reward I'll boldly crave. 

But when at length I would have stept 
Toward the maid with fervor, 

Young Stephen o'er the hedge had leapt 
With like intent to serve her ; 



26 



And lest his chance might later fail. 
Took, first, a kiss, and then, the pail ! 

Unseen, I sought a shaded path, 
And left the lovers cooing ; — 

But now my verse a moral hath : 
Whatever's worth the doing 

You'll find, — each day the story tells, — 

Is being done by some one else ! 

CONJUNCTIONS 

I am a happy woman ? Yes. 
The measure of my happiness 
Fates bounty can no higher fill, 
T surely happy am — yet still — 

My brown hair has no silver thread, 
My clear cheek shows its white and red, 
As fairest in the eyes of men. 
My love hath chosen me. But then. — 

My work is sweet. Great meed of praise 
Makes bright the sunshine of my days ; 
In pleasant paths my feet are set. 
Friends guard me tenderly. And yet — 

The robin flutters to the hedge, 

The sparrow seeks the window ledge, 

The eagle rests upon the cliff. 

My place is here. But if — but if — 

With loitering steps along the grass 

I see the village lovers pass 

And mind me once — ah, yes, I know 

The sweetest dream must fade. And so — 

27 



LOVE'S WAKING 

Love lies asleep. \^^hat dreams be round him 
thronging, 
Poets may guess. 
But he is tired of hope and fear — of longing — 

Of passion's stress — 
Tired, through long years, from the world's 
first beginning — 
Too tired to wake, 

At Wealth's loud call, at Beauty's whisper, win- 
ning, 
Or answer make, 
Though king command, and minstrel, in true 
metre, 
Plead, praise and weep — 
Than anything on earth, ah, rest is sweeter! 
Love lies asleep. 

Lo! two young pilgrims come from woodland 
closes. 
Barefoot, yet gay. 
Clothed with scarce else than garland-veils of 
roses. 
Sweet bes^gars, thev — 
Full of health's bU-^s, of life, of joy, immortal, 

Untouched bv sin. 
Who know not why they sing beside Love's 
portal 
Till Love joins in. 



THE SONG OF THE BROOK 

Oh, listen ! hush ! 

As lightening down its path among the grasses, 

"Neath brier and spreading bush 

Hidden, and fleet 

On silvery feet. 

The swift brook passes. 

Unseen, but heard — 

Heard with rapt heart, and brain, and eyes that 

listen ; 
Oh, the clear, wild refrain! 
The sighs ; the rippled laughter ; 
The songs which have no word 
That poet's happiest rime can follow after 
Nor truest harp intone ; 

The low, sweet, stammering talk against the 

pebbles 
That wait to catch 

And break its deeper sound in quivering trebles ; 
The silence, — sudden, strange, that seems to 

snatch 
All this glad music to its deep, still heart, 
Just for a breath, apart ! 

Oh, listen ! hark ! 

The woodland voices here imprisoned blended ; 

The sway of leaves; the ringing tone and 
splendid 

Of mounting lark ; 

The timid, coaxing chirp that warns the nes- 
tling; 



29 



The cleft branch, crashing through the startled 
air; 

The ceaseless stir and soft, mysterious rustling 

Of hidden insect life, 

In bark and twig, in moss and crevice mov- 
ing,— 

A voiceless world of toil, perchance, and strife, 

Perchance of joy and hope, and happy loving. 

Hark ! the ripe, dropping nuts ; the squirrel's 
chattering calls, 

And sounds of dancing feet, as fauns were 
keeping 

Time to the music of its liquid falls 

That ever oceanward go leaping, sweeping- 
Over low, mossy w^alls, 

Down rocky ledges, 

Past swirling vines and through the bending 
sedges. 

Strange that the woodland's song, and spelt- 
out story, 
So full and clear, 

So whole and rounded to the poet's ear, 
Should lose its deep significance and be 
Only a breath, a tone — 
One of the many mumurs of the sea ! 

And so, my brook, good-by ! 
Dumb distance takes thy song, with echo blend- 
ing 
Ripple by ripple, sigh by lingering sigh, 
And tear by tear — at last, in silence, ending. 
And there is left to me 
Only the memory 
That fills my soul, still, with thy melody. 

30 



ONCE 

Cool salt air and the white waves breaking- 
Restless, eager, along the strand — 

An evening sky and a sunset glory. 
Fading over the sea and land. 

We two sitting alone together, 

Side by side in the waning light, 

Before us the throbbing waste of wattr, 
Behind us, the sand heaps, drifted white. 

Ships were sailing into the distance 

Down to the land where the sun had gone ; 
The rough fresh wind blew o'er our faces, 
The shadows of night crept slowly on. 

Is it a dream that I remember? 

Some ghost of a hope that will come no 
more, 
We two sitting alone together. 

Hand in hand, on the ocean shore? 



31 



THE POSTMAN 

ST. valentine's day. 

How fast the postman goes 
Laden with joys and woes 

Along the street! 
Young eyes watch with dehght ; 
Eyes, not so young, with quite 

As quick pulse-beat. 

He carries painted hearts 
Transfixed with harmless darts : 

Live hearts too hide 
Stowed in his swinging bag 
And doubtless make it wag 

From side to side. 

Here, prayer of parted friends 
And shaft that malice sends 

Elbow for space; 
The pang that hurts and stings. 
The balm that healing brings, 

Run equal race. 

A scentless rose, a verse 
That hardly could be worse, 

A soul s despair, 
A tear blot, and a jest, 
A happy love confessed, 

A laugh, a prayer ! 



3* 



Is he a man or elf? 

Pandora's box itself 

Could scarce send wide 
Such motley crowd and fleet, 
Save that gifts fair and sweet 
Its ills divide ! 

Bird-like, he mounts and swoops 
Swift up and down the stoops ; 

He's drawing near. 
Though I may moralize, 
I, too, have waiting eyes — 

Oh, please stop here! 

IN ABSENCE 

God keep you, dearest, all this lonely night ; 

The winds are still, 
The moon drops down behind the western hill ; 

God keep you, safely, dearest, till the light. 

God keep you, then when slumber melts away, 

And care and strife 
Take up new arms, to fret our waking life ; 

God keep you through the battle of the day. 

God keep you. Nay, beloved soul, how vain. 

How poor is prayer! 
I can but say again, and yet again, 

God keep you every time and everywhere. 



33 



MY LOVE 

My little love! When she is meek 

And talks of prayer and penance lowly, 

Her silken eyelash on her cheek, 

I love her then with love as holy, 

As free from earthly stain or taint 

As monk might give to shrined saint. 

My winsome love! When she's inclined 
To view life more in aspects human, 

I'm very glad, indeed, to find 

That she can be so much a woman ; 

I love her for the love she gives, 

And think no sweeter being lives. 

My naughty love! But when she laughs. 
Intent to puzzle and displease me, 

W^en merciless, she guys and chafifs. 

And does her charming best to tease me, 

'Tis very strange this should befall, 

That then I loved her best of all ! 

MISSENT 

Up, up the eager waves come with 

dimpled, coaxing faces, 
And push against the grim old rocks 
In sudden little shocks, 
And yearning sweet embraces ! 

But cold, cold the rocks stand, against 

their winning graces 
Unmoved, and sad and discontent — 
It seems that love is sent 
Sometimes, to the wrong places. 

34 



FAITH TREMBLING 

Were 1 a happy bird 

Building my little nest each early spring, 
It might be easy then to keep God's word, 

His praise to sing; 
Easy to live content. 

Tending my little ones — of love secure, 
Knov^ing no agony for time misspent, 

Or thought impure ! 

Were I a butterfly, 

A bright winged creature of the sunshine 
born 
Idle and lovely I could live and die 

Without self -scorn; 
I need not fear 

To take my utmost will of summer sweet — 
Nor dread when the swift end came near, 

My Judge to meet! 

If I were only made 

Patient, and calm, and pure, as angels are, 
I had not been so doubtful — sore afraid 

Of sin and care ; 
It would seem sweet and good 

To bear the heavy cross that martyrs take, 
The passion and the pain of womanhood 

For my Lord's sake. 



35 



But strong, and fair, and young, 

I dread my glowing limbs — my heart of lire, 
My soul that trembles like a harp full strung 

To keen desire ! 
Oh, wild and idle words ! 

Will God's large charity and patience be 
Given unto butterflies and singing birds, 

And not to me ? 



IF 

If you were safe in Heaven 
And I at the outer gate, 
Would our lives seem less even, 
Or mine, be a harder fate ? 

For then, I might hope by waiting 
In penance and patient prayer, 
Hourly my grief relating. 
Some time to enter there. 

Where the lowest may look highest, 
High, as a crowned king 
And the farthest may come nighest, 
And the saddest, be glad and sing. 

But here, through my soul beseech you, 
Though we may meet and speak, 
I know I can never reach you, 
No matter how far I seek. 



36 



TWO LOVERS 

One loves me as a woman would be loved, 
With hearty words, and kind insistent care. 
Proclaims me frankly as most sweet and fair, 
And only laughs to hear himself reproved. 
He chides me gaily in my own behalf, 
Tests at my faults, and scatters merry chaff 
With richest grain. . . . The other silent stands 
All his soul's worship waiting in his eyes. 
Seldom, indeed he smiles, but often sighs. 
Grows pale at friendly meeting of our hands, 
And if by chance I touch him, carelessly, 
He looks as if an angel passed him by. 
Which seems the truer better love? . . . Ah, 

me! 
Tf only the two kinds might blended be 
The human with the angel love ! ah, then 
We need not fear to trust the love of men. 

ROSE AND VIOLET 

I wonder now when leaves come back, 
And blue birds chirp, and thrushes sing. 
And lonely woodlands bare and black, 
Put on green veils, for love of Spring, 
And Winter is an ended dream — 
I wonder how the world will seem 
Or what dear thought the rose may bring 
Of happy Summer's left behind? 
What sweet word will the violet find 
To say to me, if anything? 
Or will they teach me to forget 
My last year's rose and violet? 



37 



AUSPICIUM 

Like a beautiful flying bird it came 
Out of the sunshine and breath of spring ; 
And I never named it by any name 
Half fair enough for so fair a thing. 

Into my life and my heart's deep heart, 
Bringing a song and a laugh, a dream, 
Sweet tears, glad silence, and that strange art 
That makes all shadow like sunshine seem. 

Safe on my breast, with swift wing still, 
And bright head nestled, it long had lain; 
I could not dream that the yearning thrill 
For flight, would waken ever again. 

But out of my life it swept, one day, 
With song and sunshine, and shadow-flame ; 
And I never knew by what unseen way^ 
It came and went, nor its unnamed name. 



38 



A MARRIAGE 

They stood together, he and she, 

As tenderly as lovers may 
Who know the breaking dawn will be 

Their wedding day. 

His flashing eyes told half his bliss ; 

But hers seemed full of silent prayer, 
As if a mightier voice than his 

Had named her there. 

Behind the alter and the ring. 

Behind the brimming cup love holds. 

Her timid soul sought wondering, 
The future's folds. 

His eyes were sweet : she looked beyond 
Through waiting years of sun and rain ; 

His clasp was dear; she felt the bond. 
That might be pain ! 

Yet he all gladness, she half fear, 

Gave kisses only of delight 
Love touched and brought them close and near 

That happy night. 

Long afterwards he waked to doubt — 
But she, with careworn matron grace, 

Shut patience in and passion out. 
And held her place. 

And never thought nor word went wild 

Content if only she could see 
His features in the sleeping child 

Across her knee. 

39 



Her doubt had end were his begun 
She smiled, nor knew the bitter cost 

At which his prison calm was won — 
His freedom lost ! 



CONFESSION 

Yes, I had loved, ere your dear face was known 
I do confess it — and my life seemed set 
In tender radiance, as if moonlight shone. 

But, mark, sweetheart ! . . the moon is not the 
sun, 
Tis but, and always, radiance that is lent ! 

So, though that dream was dear, I knew it 
meant 
Only the dream of something dearer yet — 
A reflex of the greater love unwon 
Waiting below my soul's dim horizon ! 



40 



MY LOST SELF 

You wonder why my eyes are dim with tears ; 
Then shall I tell you? Long and long ago, 
So long ago — years piled on weary years — 
There was a little child I used to know. 

And every day and night and every hour 
We took life's gift together, sun and shade. 
And saw the rainbow shining through the 

shower 
And heard the talk that building robins made. 

We thought the world was ours, to come and go. 
About its highways, finding treasures rare. 
We thought all heaven was ours, and fashioned 

so, 
Grand castle after castle, high in air ! 

Ah, now I find the world a desert wild ! 
No room in all the sky for tower mine : 
But most of all I miss my comrade child, 
Her brave true courage and her faith divine. 

Dead ? changed ? I know not, sweet ! I only 

know 
That sometimes from the mirror's shining 

space, 
Tn my own features, worn and faded so, 
T catch a glimmer of the bright lost face. 

You will no longer wonder that I weep 
My little girl, with eyes, so grave and clear. 
Whatever treasure we may hold or keep, 
To lose one's happy self is saddest, dear ! 



41 



THE POPPY'S FAULT 

He plucked for me a poppy red 

Among the corn, 
"A sorry omen, love," I said 
"This pleasant morn." 

He stooped and kissed me, where we stood, 
"Nay, sweet," said he 
"For any omen must be good 

'Twix you and me." 

I wore the poppy on my breast 

The livelong day, 
But when the sun sank down the west 
I passed that way — 
And then, I saw my lover stand 
(The poppy's sign) 
He held a fair young maiden's hand — 

Not mine — not mine! 

Unseen, with breaking heart I sped, 

My homeward way : 
And bye and bye, the white moon shed 
Her silver day ; 

I leaned upon the gate, and heard 
With blinding tears 
The timid twitter of a bird 

That waking, fears! 

At last a step — I seemed to dream, 

My heart stood dumb 
As through the moonlight's happy gleam 
I saw him come. 



42 



How soon my doubt and sorrow fled 
Beneath his kiss — 
**It was the poppy's fault," I said 
**But never his !" 



A WOMAN'S THOUGHT 

Dear, I would die, putting away 

Life, and love's heart-beats just to know 

That you would plead with me, and pray 
Me, not to go. 

Yea ; while your tender pleading strove 
And while your dear arms held me fast 

I would give life to know your love 
Life would outlast ! 



43 



GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART 

The sleep is broken, the fair dream ended — 
Sweet sleep that crowned us, dear dream that 
blessed. 

Life's faded robe may be patched and mended 
For dail)^ wear, but no more for best. 

We two, poor spendthrifts, were gay together, 
Deep, deep we drank of Life's richest wine ; 

And all our weather was Summer weather. 
When I was yours, dear, and you were mine. 

My eyes seemed made but to seek and find you, 
My voice to name you, my hands to press. 

My brain to kncrw you, my arms to bind you, 
My lips to kiss you, my heart to bless. 

The rain blew by us, the stars shone o'er us — 
We laughed at snow-fall, at cloud and sun ; 

What fear had we of the way before us ? 
We walked together, all roads were one. 

So rich we were — ^but our wealth is squandered ; 

So gay we were — we are gay no more. 
Apart and apart our feet have wandered ; 

Our eyes are heavy, our hearts are sore. 

Good-by, my sweetheart ; God love and guard 

you 

For my poor sake, who have loved you well — 

Who no more may call you, nor look toward 

you, 

From highest heaven, nor from deepest hell ! 



44 



THE UNSEEN GUIDE 

Life is too long for me — I cannot bear 
The dreary days and nights. 

But if I share 
Thy weary vigil, wilt thou still despair? 

My burden weighs me down. I am not free 
To haste with eager steps. 

Yet I will be 
Thy help and strength. Divide thy load with 
me. 

The path is strange and rugged, and the night 
Falls black along the sky. 

I will be sight, 
For thee, faint soul, and guide thy steps aright. 

Nay, but fair homelights in the valley gleam, 
And voices call. 

What doth earth's splendor seem? 
Better, more lasting, than the glow-worms 
gleam ? 

And is there, then, for me, nor home, nor love, 
Naught but this barren way ? 
So thou shalt prove 
The bUss God giveth to his own, above! 

Thou — whom art thou that by me toilest on 
Unthanked — unasked ? 

Friend, when thou lookest upon 
My face thy place in Heaven shall be won ! 



45 



THE TOUCH OF SPRING 

I heard as the wind swept by me 
A breath, or was it a sigh ? 
Something too vague for rhyming 
Too tuneless for melody. 

Faint, fainter than moth wings floating, 
And yet as it swept along 
It wrote on my heart, a poem. 
And drew from my soul, a song. 

A FAREWELL 

I put thy hand aside, and turn away — 
Why should I blame the slight and fickle heart 
That cannot bravely go, nor boldly stay, 
Too weak to cling, and yet too fond to part ? 
Dead Passion chains thee where her ashes lie.— 
Cold is the shrine, ah, cold forevermore ! 
Why linger then, while golden moments fly 
And sunshine waits beyond the open door ? 
Nay — fare thee well, for memory and I 
Must tarry here and wait .... We have no 

choice 
Nor other better joy, until we die — 
Only to wait, and hear, nor step — nor voice. 
Nor any happy advent come to break 
The watch we keep alone — for Love's dear 

sake! 



46 



]\iY SWEETHEARJ'S FACE 

The smoke- wreaths of my good cigar 
Float out and curl and still ascend — 
A world where dreams and phantoms are 
When past and present softly blend. 
But still, whate'er their groupings be 
Whatever imaginings I trace 
Always, amid their mists I see 
My little sweetheart's tender face. 

I see the fringing hair above 

The modest eyes whose lashes fall ; 

I see the little mouth I love 

A crimson flower, pure, sweet, and small, 

The dimpled chin, the smooth fair cheek — 

Yes, every charm and gentle grace 

That poets sing, or painters seek, 

Are mingled in my sweetheart's face. 

The Christmas bells ring glad and free — 
The sledges cross the moonlit snow 
Such Christmas joyance rang for me 
Ah, not so very long ago! 
Ah, not so very long ago, 
We sped across the glittering space 
To jingling bells, and nestled low 
Beside me, smiled my sweetheart's face. 

How gay we were ! Our voices blent 
In song and laughter on the air 
How mute we were, in deep content 
My cheek pressed warm against her hair 



47 



And all the while the happy chime 
Of wild bell-melody kept pace 
And now and then to help the rhyme 
I kissed my little sweetheart's face, 

I muse alone : a broken prayer 
Lost in a sigh, breathes from my heart 
May all good angles guard her where 
Her pure life moves from mine apart 
And still I dream, Hope cannot die ! 
That sometime in its rightful place 
Here on my arm at rest shall lie 
My little sweetheart's darling face. 

CONTRADICTION' 

I said to you. No, and No — No — No — 

Your face grew white as you heard ; 

Whom else in the world would have loved me 

so, 
And — taken me at my word ? 

But now, to you — Yes, Yes, Yes, I say ! 
Ah, now that you cannot hear; 
And now that your eyes are turned away, 
I beckon to bring you near. 

And so it goes, in this life of ours, 
There is always too much at stake — 
We cannot guess at the thorns, for flowers, 
Nor at joy — for the hearts that break! 



48 



FATE AND LACE WORK 

Of course, 1 loved him (One, two, three, 
And sHp the fourth) Dear fellow, yes! 

He loved me madly (ISlow you see. 
This time you take two stitches less) 

Quite tall, well built, his eyes were grey, 
(You pull that thread the other way. 

Two loops) A dimple in his chin; 

The sweetest hair! (my dear, observe) 
He was a poet (these begin 

The second row, and make the curve) 
I'm sure you'd like to read the rhymes 

He wrote me, (Round the edge three times. 

Poor boy. It was so sad to part ! 

He died quite young (Another one 
But, not so tight.) It broke my heart — 

(There, that is very nicely done!) 
He was my first love, and — my last. 

(Be careful, dear — don't go so fast) 

My husband, Ah, so good and kind ! 

I me: h'm (Now the pattern shows) 
In Europe. We were married (Mini 

That turn) W^ell, yes, as marriage goes, 
I'm happy. (Keep the thread quite straight 

Or it will tangle) Such is Fate! 



49 



A VALENTINE 

"The tender dawn is beaking through the 
shadows : 

Sweetheart, arise! 

For see Love flies 
With eager step across the bare brown mea- 
dows." 

"Nay, nay — ah nay! 

It is too soon : 
Yon see the ghmmer of the sinking moon — 

Not rising day !" 

"Ah, now indeed the sun is up and shining ! 

Make short your prayer ; 

Look who is there 
Beneath your lattice patiently reclining!" 

"Ah where, ah where? 

I cannot see, 
For sleep that lingers, what the wight may be — 

If dark or fair." 

"Put down the silken web your hands are 
weaving ! 

The moonday sun 
Shines full upon 
Poor weary Love, who waits and watches — 
grieving." 

"So near — so far? 
To love a maid, is that to fear her ? 

How strange men are ! 
He should be farther still or much, much 
nearer I" 



50 



"But now, sweet maid, but now the twilight 
darkens ; 

Love's arms entwine 

Your lattice vine." 
Ah ! so at last she pauses and she hearkens 

And murmurs low : 

**Climb not, but wait ! 
1 come! I come, beloved — late, I know — 

But not too late !" 

A FREE SLAVE 

She said, he was her lover — 
"I would not hold you — no — 

If once the dream seemed over 
If once, you wished to go — 

You're free, at any season. 

At any moment, free!" 
"But that is just the reason 

You hold me fast — " said he, 

REFLECTED LIGHT 

\ctir eyes say, *'S,weet, I love — I love you, 
sweet." 

Where is the blame 
If, when their mute significance I meet, 

^J:ne say the same? 

Nay, thank me not, nor deem your triumph 
near. 

The message bright 
M\ glance conveys — 'tis but — believe, me, 
dear — 

Reflected light ! 



AT THE LAST 

We have found Love's scope 

And no more. 

Need we wait, nor hope — 

As before. 

Let the curtain fall 

Lest we see 

The deserted lonely hall 

Where phantoms be. 

Shall I blame you, then ? 

Shall I chide 

Moons that wax and wane, 

Streams that glide? 

God has made them so — 

They fulfil, 

So do we, dear, too, 

God's wise will. 

Well, you brought me Heaven 

Glad, and new ; 

While your love was given 

It was true. 

wShall we pine because 

Flowers decay? 

Nature keeps her laws 

Weep who may. 

You will go the way 
You have sought, 
Strong, and frank and gay, 
Missing naught. 



52 



Careless — not unkind, 
When we meet 
You will smile and find, 
Memory sweet. 

T too, I shall smile, 

By and bye ; — 

With what heavenly guile, 

Women lie ! 

Ah, if faith betrayed 

Dimmed the face — 

Our fair world were made 

A dreary place. 

I shall smile and keep 
Calm, profound — 
None will guess how deep, 
Goes the wound — 
Quick dear, make an end 
Ere my heart, 
Break, to call you friend 
Let us part. 



A WOUND 

Words may be shafts that wound with piercing 

dart 
When anger severs heart from yearning 

heart, 
Yet gladly will he bear their pain who knows 
How deeper far the hurt of silence goes. 



53 



A BRIDAL 

If your strong love hold 

And clothe me in its fold, 

Give my cheeks the red, 

And keep the rain from my head — 

Warm me in the snow, 

And cool me, in the glow, 

Guard and save me still 

From all pain and ill — 

This, if you can do, — 

To make your promise true 

You will do far more 

Than e'er man did before! 

Nay — yet take my hand ; 
Like children here we stand, 
The road winds far away. 
Where we must wend today, 
And the dear farewells made, 
Can never be unsaid. 

Beyond the open gate, 

What joys — what sorrows wait? 

What treasures shall we find 

Who leave so much behind — 

Youth — home — the place we knew, 

The trust long proven true, 

The love, that like the sun, 

With our first day begun. 

The laughter and the tears. 

Of childhood's long sweet years. 



54 



Ah, love, howe'er it be, 

Yet say a prayer with me 

A little humble prayer 

For God's good watchful care — 

So we will go one way, 

Stay near me, love, oh stay , 

Through all the journey's length, 

And cheer me with your strength. 

Your word, and smile and touch, 

But — do not promise much ! 



BESIDE THE SEA 

Beside the sea one summer day 
Three merry children were at play. 

The great warm sun was sinking low. 
The waves were beating to and fro. 

And silvery shells and pebbles white 
Lay glittering in the rosy light. 

Around the rocks, like ribbons hung, 
The pretty fringing set-moss clung. 

And green sea-grasses gently swayed 
With every throb the ripples made; 

And like a Sxiow-field, smooth and wide, 
The beach sloped down to meet the tide. 

Ah me! that hour was passing sweet — 
Afar from town and crowded street, 



55 



To look across the ocean's space, 
And feel the rough wind on my face : 

To hear the ripple's measured song, 
The children's voices, fresh and strong, 

Half drowning on the eager breeze 
The old, old music of the seas ! 

O merry hearts ! O voices glad ! 
The sad sea is no longer sad. 

A charm is lent to rock and wave 
More fair than Nature ever gave, 

The while your joyance echoes so, 
And light young footsteps come and go. 

Dear happy-hearted children three. 
At play beside the summer sea ! 



IN THE SITTER'S CHAIR 

Your eyes were mine and your smile was mine, 
The nut-brown fringes above your bmw, 
The curve of your cheek, and the tender line 
From chin to bosom, I see it now. 
Where I folded the soft blue drapery down, 
And pinned a cluster of lilies fair ; 
How softly the noise of the toiling town 
Came to us, sitting in silence there. 



S6 



We two alone, and the hour was mine 
Mine most dearly in memory yet! 
And you, with your delicate sense and fine 
Sweet, subtile fancy, do you forget? 
Nay^ — sure as ever a lily's face 
Blooms warm before you, ah, back you go, 
And seat yourself in the sitter's place 
In the sunlit garret of long ago. 

What plans I fashioned — What hopes and 

dreams, 
yiy castles that vanished so soon in air ! 
But most like a beautiful dream it seems 
Sweet, to remember you, posing there — 
A dream that is far more real and true 
Than most of the things I own to-day. 
For still, with a thought I can summon you 
And hear and answer the words you say. 

And so after all, though the space be wide 
That time and distance have set between. 
And lofty the ramparts of wealth and pride 
That guard and compass you like a queen, — 
Still you come back to me, good as fair. 
Meek, like a woman, yet half divine, 
And I pose you again in the sitter's chair, 
And your eyes, and your smile, and your soul 
are mine ! 



57 



A BROKEN THREAD 

The leaf has fallen from the tree, 
The bird has flown beyond the sea, 
The flower, its breath and color spent, 
Again with hueless dust is blent — 
Of all my vision feasted on. 
The husk is left, the soul is gone — 
I weep and say — *'God's will be done." 

For what God gave was all his best — 

The merry music of the nest, 

Flowers in the loneliest solitude 

And pathways through the densest wood, 

Clear waters, laughing in the sun. 

And fruits, red-ripening one by one 

ToIH how God's blessed will was done. 

Yet, better than His best was this — 

The touch that stilled my heart, — the kiss 

That filled my soul's deep waiting cup, 

As dawn-dew fills the lily up — 

Eyes whose long glances, gladly won, 

Seemed never ended nor begun, 

But always mine — "God's will be done." 

God's will — His will that gave the joy 
He takes again, ere aught should cloy. 
Or too much sweetness sate the sense 
And change to cold indiflFerence — 
The utmost race, untried — unwon — 
Untouched the goal we counted on. 
He bids us pause . . . His will be done ! 



S8 



Oh blessed soul — what lot is thine 
For whom the heavenly tapers shine ! 
Who leavest flower and nest and song. 
The paths of Heaven to move along — 
Thou whose fine thread sO slender grown 
Has snapt apart, too quickly spun — 
God holds both ends^ — His will be done ! 

ULY: THE YEAR'S SWEETHEART 

All things beautiful love her: 

The butterflies Hght and fleet, 
The branches that bend above her, 

The mosses that kiss her feet: 
The ripening grain in the meadow 

The birds, singing sweet and near. 
The opened flowers in the shadow, 

The brook, with its ripple clear : 
The bee, in his clover sleeping, 

The locusts, that drone and whir. 
The rain from the hills, down-sweeping. 

And the clouds — are in love with her ! 
For she, oh, the shy new-comer. 

So dear to the world, so dear! 
Is heart of the heart of Summer, 

And sweetheart of all the vear. 



59 



A CHORD 

"I love you, dear!" When I have said the words 
My Hps are dumb, speech has been beggared 
quite — 
As if some mastering hand had swept the chords 

Of all my life, into one chord of might, 
That rang and snapt ! . . And I, the quivering 
lute 
Throbbing with music still, must evermore 
be mute ! 



60 



AUTUMN MUSIC 

This is the path — here, where the fence-rails lie 

Across the withered tern, 

Down-trodden now and dry; 

And look, against the cool, dark, azure sky 

How warmly, brilliantly 

The vivid autumn splendors glow and burn. 

Oh, the sweet silence ! When we came m spring 

Do you remember how glad bursts of song 

Rang, greeting us, and echoing 

The shadowy long-drawn aisles among r 

How everywhere 

Bird called to bird with eager, questioning cry. 

Now all is still 

Save where our rapid feet, 

'Mid the crisp leaves and rustling brushwood 

hieing, 
Send startled echoes through the forest flying. 
Hush ! step more softly, yet more softly, sweet ! 
Nay, pause a moment. Listening, we shall hear 
Divinest music thrilling far and near ; 
The heart of nature throbbing, beat by beat! 
Hark to the wind's low, earnest sighing, 
Solemn as voice of prayer ; 
The tender murmur of the hidden rill. 
The sound of ripe nuts dropping here and there ; 
Far off a dreamy bird-song swelling, dying; 
Some scarce-remembered strain. 
Half joy, half pain. 
Telling how fair 
But how beloved in vain, 
(The old, old, story!) 

Was the dear ended summer, whose swift glory 
Dies out, forgotten, lonely, in its wane ! 
6i 



MY LITTLE WIFE 

1 love her for her willful ways, 
Bright tears, impetuous words of praise ; 
For flashing angers, lightning fleet, 
For questioning looks, for kisses sweet ; 
I love her when she laughs, and when 
She frowns — oh, how I love her then ! 

She is not prudent, meek nor wise ; 
Not such a jewel as they prize 
Who seek perfection in the form 
Of lovely woman. Sun and storm 
And fire and frost in her combine ; 
But, oh, I'm very glad she's mine. 

Her changing moods are hard to gauge- 
Now wildly gay, now mildly sage, 
Now brisk and busy all about, 
Now fast asleep, now going out, 
Now wiping tears away, perplext, 
Next making tea, and singing next. 

But she is at her loveliest best 
W^hen day is done and time for rest 
Draws near, and sleep hangs in her eyes 
Like waiting snow in wintry skies ; 
And when she kneels to say her prayer 
My worldly heart kneels with her there. 



62 



WHEREVER YOU ARE 

If only I could be with you, dear, with you 

wherever you are, 
I would not care where our feet might fare. 

under what sun or star 
So that my hand might reach your hand, and 

our step keep true and sure 
By any sea, or through any land, while life for 

us both endure. 

If only I could be with you — ah, the cloudiest 

sky were blue ! 
The roughest path that the wild waste hath 

would be smooth if I walked with you 
I'd stoop to drink from the running brook, Fd 

feed from the berry-spray, 
For my soul could live on your tender look 

whenever it turned my way. 

If only I could be with you, dear, when day is 

done, and the night 
Comes down out of heaven, so kind and near, 

to fold us away from sight. 
Your pillow would be my faithful breast, and 

when we had knelt, in prayer, 
Ah, what would matter, the place of rest so that 

we both were there ? 

Dear, I would leave a throne for you, and my 

kingdom's door ajar. 
To seek and find you, the broad earth through, 

and be — wherever you are, 



^3 



While the swift days fly, and the slow years die, 

only no more to part ! 
Ah, small is the world, yet wide, wide, wide, its 

space between heart and heart! 



YEARS OF DISCRETION 

Years of discretion surely are 

Life's full and sweet completion ; — 
But wilful Fate delights to mar, 
For, when we reach them, there's a jar 
The years are more apparent, far. 
Than the discretion ! 



A BREATH 

A breath can fan love's flame to burning- - 
Make firm resolve of trembling doubt, 
But strange ! at fickle fancy's turning, 
The self same breath can blow it out. 



64 



SINCE YESTERDAY 

"Be calm, be comforted," they say, 
Such words I, too, at times, have said 
When others mourned above their dead. 
I, too, for others' grief made moan, 
Who have no tears now for mine own, 
For all is changed since yesterday. 

I know the little face is sweet. 
Lying asleep in its last sleep — 
I look and smile, I cannot weep — 
So angel-fair the features seem. 
So dreamless is this marble dream. 
With folded hands and resting feet. 

Kind friends condole with tender fears, 
Whom is this sobbing? One whose pain 
C'l long ago comes back again — 
To sorrow for my loss and say, 
"My child was taken." So, for aye, 
Grief lives through years and weary years ! 

Nay, if I cannot look away. 

What wonder ? Backward turn my eyes 

To that lost land where sunshine lies 

Behind me — evermore behind. 

What should I find, or hope to find: 

My hope was ended yesterday. 

The way I walked — ^but not alone — 
Was sweet with bird songs in the trees, 
And laughing tones rang down the breeze, 
Loud, childish music, wild with glee ; 
God's happy world seemed Heaven to me, — 
The way is dark and Heaven is gone ! 

6s 



"Be strong, be calm, take comfort!" Nay, 
But I will ask for tears, instead; 
Too weep, and weep, uncomforted. 
To let my heart dissolve and give 
Its life, that no more cares to live, 
Since life itself went yesterday. 

blessed Mother, plead and pray 
For me, a mother desolate! 

1 wait alone, as thou didst wait. 
Plead, pray for me, who seek for naught 
And have no thought beyond this thought- 
Mv little child died vesterdav. 



66 



INLAND 

When the blue dawns of summer mornings 

change 
To brooding warmth of sunrise, spreading 

bright; 
And long, sweet shadows down the levels 

range ; 
And all the crags and uplands laugh in light, 
I long then for the music of the sea 
Breaking against its shore, with songs for me ! 

When the tired glory of the drowsy noon 
Shuts inward half the life that thrills my heart ; 
And brings, to dreamy eyes, the sleep too soon 
That folds me, from the outward world apart, 
In that strange hour I hear the rhythmic sweep, 
Of strong incoming tides, so cool — so deep ! 

In rose-gray twilight, when the mists of dew 
Half-veil the white star-blossoms of the sky ; 
And the clear tender wind breathes slowly 

through 
My curtain fold, with tuneless melody, 
I listen till I catch the tone divine 
Of sea-songs, far away, but always mine! 



67 



THE POET'S WIFE 

She brings her pretty knitting (bless her!) 
Or mystic threads for making laces, 

That by-and by will serve to dress her 

In new and, no doubt, charming graces. 

She sits and rocks, her rocker chiming 

In measured cadence to my rhyming. 

Sometimes with eye that proudly glistens 
I read a sonnet I have written ; 

She counts her stiches while she listens, 
Or pulls a thread to make it fit in — 

And, with her gaze intent upon it. 

Asks "what they pay for a sonnet?" 

She little knows of rhyme or metre 

And cares still less, but asks me whether 

Chififon and roses would look sweeter 

To trim her hat, than jet and feather? 

And while I'm "framing odes to Cupid" 

She tell me "Poetry is stupid !" 

But oh, her eyes! . . . Her silken lashes — 
Her hair's sweet mutinies . . the dimple 

In cheek and chin . . . the outward flashes 
Of inward smiles . . her tranquil, simple, 

Entrancing air! . . . Did she but know it — 

She is the reason I'm a poet ! 



68 



THE CROCUS 

The flowers were dreaming, all fast asleep — 
For the warm brown earth is a pleasant bed, 
When suddenly breaking their slumbers deep, 
They heard a patter just over head — 
Like the tramp of a million fairy feet 
Or tapping fingers, that beat and beat ! 

Who knocks so loudly ? the wild rose said ; 
The pansy opened her purple eyes. 
And stared through the darkness, in mute sur- 
prise. 
Fair timid lily with saint like grace. 
Crossed herself and began to pray — 
The violet stirred in her drowsev nest — 
"Tis quite too early for me to rise 
There is not so much as a gleam of day," 
Then turned on her pillow, and slept again. 

Fair daffodil yawned and covered her face, 
Hvpatrica murmured ''oh hush — be still, 
We need not wake till the blue birds trill." 
But dear little crocus meek, and good, 
"Rose out of her quiet restine place. 
"I hear the knock of the wild March rain, 
'Tis time for me to be up and dressed." 
She wrapped herself in her warm green vest 
And shiverinsr pulled on her yellow hood. 
And slid the bolt of the heaw door. 
And pushed her wav through melting snow 
Through showers that patter and winds that 
blow 



69 



Into the bare bleak world to briiT^ 

The wonderful, beautiful news of Spring. 

Some children scampering home from school^ 

Stopped that day near the woodland pool, 

And laughed and shouted with joy — for there, 

Out of a snow-wreath peeping fair 

A dear little crocus bravely stood. 

And smiled to herself in her yellow hood. 

SEA LOVERS 

Come let us fare together 

Into that clear, blue world, 
The tide that no fate can tether — 

With the sails of our souls unfurled. 
Let us drift into any weather — 

Come, let us find a path, 
Such as the mermaid hath — 

With pebbles and shells impearled. 

We will float down the foam-swept spaces. 

We will hide by the crystal walls, 
Till they break in our cool, moist faces, 

With a rush as of waterfalls — 
Or, of tears in Love's tempest driven, — 

Love with us there alone. 
Half the world for our own 

And the whole of Heaven ! 

Beggars, we may not borrow, 
Spendthrifts, we cannot pay, 
But come! — There's no sweet to-morrow 
As sure as our dear to-day, 

70 



There is not a cloud to shade us 
Not a boat sail near nor far — 

And, we are as God has made us, 
Woman and man we are ! 

Come, for the world's ways grieve us 

Hot are the blinding sands. 
The hours, and the days bereave us. 

Clasp with me gladsome hands, 
And go by sweet height and hollow. 

Where never a milestone is, 
Pointing the way to bliss — 

Our swift feet find and follow. 

We will buflFet the waves and beat them, 

Rest with them, cheek to cheek, 
Rush with them, meet them, greet them, 

Flee from them, when they seek — 
Lips with their passion glowing, 

Living, loving anew, 
Shall we spare them a kiss or two 

From our heart's wild overflowing? 

Come! If we leave behind us, 

Loads too heavy to bear. 
Fetters that strain and bind us 
In the rags that we used to wear, 
From tumult and toil and pain, 

Taking the way that is nearest, 
What matters it, heart, my dearest, 

If we come not back again? 



71 



FIRST AND LAST 

"But tell me, dear," she said, 
And coaxingly the soft eyes shone. 
And shyly drooped the modest head 

beside his own — 
"But tell me, have you loved before, 

Or one, or more?" 

The eager sparkling face 

Was full of tender, trusting grace ; 

She did not fear his answer, then, 

Her king of men ! 
"But tell me, dear, the best and worst — 
Or— am I first?" 

He turned his eyes away, 

Yet closer still her hand he pressed. 

Nor answered yea, nor nay, 

A blush confessed 
All, in one burning word 

Unsaid — unheard ! 

Quick came a burst of tears, 

A tempest from an April sky, 

And then — "For^ve mv doubts and fears.' 

He heard her sigh, 
"Why should I care what loves are past 

So mine be last ?" 



72 



THE ENDLESS STORY 

A freshening wind, an April shadow, 
A bird's song trilling clear and fast, 

A gleam of violets from the meadow, 
A builded nest — and the Spring is past. 

Warm golden blooms that break asunder. 
The calm of a full perfection won 

A lightning spark — a crash of thunder, 

And rose-leaves scattered — the Summer's 
done. 

Light thistle-downs through the blue air flying. 
Swift wandering leaves of gold and red, 

An empty nest by the wayside lying — 
A mateless bird ! Ah, fair Autumn's dead ! 

A bright white world! Soft Snow wreaths 
blowing, 

And fringed eaves dropping in the sun. 
Then floating ice to the great sea going. 

And the endless story is again begun. 



73 



A QUIET HOUSE 

My house is quiet now, so still! 
All day I hear the ticking clock, 
The hours are numbered clear and shrill. 
Outside the robins chirp and trill 
My house is quiet now, so still ! 

But silence breaks my heart. I wait 
And waiting yearn for call or knock, 
To hear the creaking of the gate — 
And footsteps coming soon, or late. 
The silence breaks my heart. I wait! 

All through the emntv house I go. 
From hall to hall, from room to room 
The heavy shadows spread and grow, 
The startled echoes mock me so. 
As through the empty house I go. 

Oh, silent house! If I could hear 
Sweet noises in the tranquil gloom, 
The joyful tumult, loud and near 
That vexed me, many a happy year, 
Ah, silent house — if I could hear! 

Ah blessed heaven, if once, once more 
My longing eyes might see the stain 
Of little footprints on the floor 
The sweet child faces at the door, 
Ah, pitying Heaven, but once, once more ! 



74 



My house and home are very still, 

I watch the sunshine and the rain, 

The years go on . . . Perhaps Death will 

Life's broken promises fulfill. 

My house, my home, my heart, are still ! 



A WOMAN'S GIFTS 

First I would give thee — nay, I may and will 
Thoughts, memory, prayers, a sacred wealth 

unguessed, 
My soul's own glad and beautiful bequest, 
Conveyed in voiceless reverence, deep and still, 
As angles give their thoughts and prayers to 

God ! 
Next I would yield, in service freely made, 
All of my days and years, thy needs tO' fill ; 
To bear or heavy cross, or thorny rod, 
Glad of my bondage, deeming it most meet : 
Oh mystery of love, as strange as sweet, 
That love from its own wealth should be repaid ' 
Last, I would give thee, if it pleased thee so. 
And for thy pleasure, wishing it increased. 
My woman's beauty, heart and lips aglow ; 
But this, dear, last — so soon its charm must 

fade, 
It is, indeed, of all my gifts, the least! 



75 



BLUE EYES AND BROWN 

I 

Blue eyes ! A mountain stream 

Is not more blue; 
She trifles with her cream 

As women do 
And I, — I smoke and dream 

Contented, too. 

II 

She wears my wedding ring, 

She is my own ; 
Yet swift, on sudden wing 

My thought has flown 
Back, where wild roses cling 

And hay is mown. 

Ill 

The slowly-brightening moon 
(How beats my heart !) 

Rises, too fair — too soon — 
They have no art 

To lengthen time's scant boon 
Who kiss and part. 

IV 

I kissed her mouth, and hair 

Her lids, that fell 
Drowned in quick tears, that bear 

The heart's farewell. 
Of love's last sweet despair 

What tongue can tell? 

76 



Blue eyes! Alas, alas, 
For dear brown eyes, 

For roses in the grass 
And moonlit skies, 

For time beloved that was, 
And sad goodbyes ! 

VI 

Alas! while through the haze 

Of my cigar 
Blue eyes send tranquil rays, 

My heart, afar, 
Wanders, a wild-rose maze, 

Where brown eyes are. 

AFTERTnOUGHT 

But if — suppose it true — 

These eyes so near 
Were brown instead of blue, 

Warm, more than clear, 
Perhaps — who knows ? — my sighs 

Might still float down 
The past, in search of eyes 

That were not brown ! 



77 



WE TWO 

Strangers, but a week before 

Giving pleasant word for word, 

Smile for smile, and nothing more. 

Can you tell, what look, or tone 

First this tide of feeling stirred? 

What strange tremor broke the calm 

Of our friendly greeting — gave 

Such tumultious wild delight 

In the meeting of the eyes — 

And the touch of palm to palm ? 

All the gladness of good-day — 

All the passion of good-night? 

Was it, then, a swift suprise 

To your soul, as to my own? 

Did you watch the words unsaid 

On my lips, and dream, awake. 

All the long night — for my sake — 

Lost, in fancy's eager bliss 

At the phantom of a kiss ? 

Was it not enough for years 

Wealth enough, to last till death — 

This strong love, beyond control, 

That so blent us — soul with soul. 

Pulse with pulse — and breath with breath ? 

One brief meeting at the last — 
Once, your strong arms round me cast, 
Hurried words, and burning tears, 
Kisses — ah, how sweeter far 
Than the dreams of kisses are ! 
Last — good bye — but no one knew 
W^hat we found — and lost — we two ! 



78 



PEGGY 

Peggy! Who wrought this saucy name 

From stately Margaret? 
Methinks, in laughter's chime it came, 

To reckless music set. 
Who was the lover, knave or poet 
That dared first in this guise to show it ? 

Peggy ! The sound is sweet and odd, 

Like quaint, wild note of bird, 
Or quick foot dancing on a sod ; 

Yet nothing ever heard 
Quite echoes Peggy. Who could breathe it 
And not in graceful rhythm wreathe it ? 

Peggy! Its syllables transform 
Proud Margaret's queenly grace 

To milkmaid beauty, wild and warm, 
Of sun-kissed brow and face, 

In green Arcadian lanes coquetting 

With rustic swains, her path besetting. 

Peggy ! But of one thing I'm sure : 

A great deal's in a name! 
Margaret had never proved the lure 

That Peggy swift became. 
I knew at once Love could not err in 
The blindest pathway he saw her in! 



79 



WILD VIOLETS 

They smell of the rain, the sun and breeze ; 
Of the long, cool shadows of cedar ttoes; 
Of the brook that sings down its mossy ledge , 
Of the bending ferns and the rustling sedge ; 
Of velvet mosses that keep the dew ; 
And of sweet dead leaves that last year knew. 

They smell of the chill, pure breath of dawn ; 
Of wind-swept hillside and sunswept lawn ; 
Of rose-briar hedge and of winding lane; 
And — of dreams that will never come back 

again, 
These wild, pale violets, faint and swet-t. 
That we buy in the crowded cit\ street I 



FRIEND AND LOVER 

When Psyche's friend becomes her lover 
How sweetly these conditions blend ; 
But oh! what anguish to discover 
Her lover has become — her friend ! 



l^JiO 



80 



ANDY'S WIDDA 

We alius fix his grave up good 
Car'line 'n' me — at least she does. 

Poor Andy ! When he fell I stood 
Right by him — so — as if it wuz 

Me here — him there. I broke his fall 

With a quick grab, but — that wuz all — 
He left his wife a widda. 

'N' that wuz what he dreaded, too, 
From firs' to las'. He used to say 

"Oh, you're all right. Ef I wuz you 
I wouldn't car' much either way ; 

But when vou know you're goin' to leave 

Some one behind to fret 'n' grieve 
'N' live a lonely widda!" 

He had her pictur' — jes' a girl, 

A pleasant young thing — well enough 

But Andy 'lowed she were the pearl ; 
The best, tip-topest kind of stuff! 

He used to look 'n' look 'n' smile 

'N' say, **01d boy ! she ain't the style 
Now, is she, for a widda?" 

'N' my! I got that pictur' yet 

I kep' it kinder for his sake 
When I fetched home his things 'n' met 

His folks 'n' — her. I hed to break 
The news 'n' mighty hard to do, 
Seein' I'd ^ ' ig poor Andy too, 

Home to his little widda. 



8i 



Hard work, I tell ye, boys, that's sol 

'N' sakes ! ye'd oughter heard her cry ! 
Be good 'n' glad you didn't though, 

But — well, she ca'med down by 'n' by, 
'N' then I hed to tell about 
Jes' how the whole blame scrape come out 

To that inquirin' widda. 

'N' so on Decoration day 

I git his grave up extra fine. 
Or — Caroline does. I hev to stay 

Most of the time in marchin' line — 
A-filin' here, salutin' there — 
Us vetterns got to do our share 

Fer every soldier's widda. 

But Andy, poor old boy ! his grave — 
We tend to that, or — Car'line does ; 

'N' then, of course, she likes to have 
Her little quiet cry, becuz — 

Well, jes' becuz — 'twixt you 'n' me 

It's on'y natural — for you see, 
I married Andy's widda. 

'N' so it's kinder comforting 

When Decoration day comes round 

With the rememberies it bring 

Of them old comrades underground. 

It's really comforting to drink 

Poor Andy's health 'n' — well, to think 
His wife ain't left a widda. 



82 



A GRADUATE. 

Practice, they say, makes perfect in each art 

The heart, then, truly 
In Cupid's lore, if studious from the start, 

Must progress duly. 

Ergo — the fact that I have loved before, 

Proves only, now, dear. 
That I can love you better far, and more 

By knowing how, dear. 



WHAT GLADYS SAID 

Said Gladys with a smile of bright disdain, 
(The season is her first; she knows not yet 

The sweet and bitter uses of her reign, 
The perils in her frowns and dimples set ;) 

Said Gladys, (and I heard her little foot 
Beat its impatience on the favored ground, 

The while I longed to button up that boot 
With kisses from its toe to ankle round;) 

Said Gladys, (and I listened, who would not? 

Watching those lips that might a saint be- 
guile) — 
What did she say? Really, I can't tell what — 

I'm onlv certain that I saw her smile. 



83 



A MERRY CHRISTMAS 

Blithe Christmas eve! 

A threadbare sleeve 
Looks cold and strange this festive weather; 

And yet, content 

With blessings sent, 
My heart and I jog on together 

I smoke and dream; 

The street lights gleam 
Below me, and the crowd that surges 

Keeps steady pace 

With equal grace 
To wedding chimes, or funeral dirges. 

My good cigar 

Glows like a star, 
'Tis from a box a woman sent me; 

Such kindly thrift 

In Christmas gift 
Hath pleasant magic to content me. 

Then let me view. 

My smoke-cloud through, 
Old flames — old joys — old Christmas treasures ; 

The eyes I loved. 

The path I roved 
In that dear world of sweet lost pleasures. 

The rustic maid 

Who gayly strayed, 
With me, to pluck the holly berry ; 

The belle in plush. 

Who stepped through slush 
On Broadway crossings, blithe and merry. 

84 



The flying ride, 

Where sleighers gHde, 
While bells rang soft from tower and steeple ; 

The moonlight fair 

Like unheard prayer 
Good angels breathe for worldly people. — 

The kiss — the vow — 

( Forgotten now : 
Alas, for passion's fickle glowing!) 

The castles fair 

That rose in air, 
The bubbles bright of fancy*s blowing. — 

Ah, sweet and vain ! 

Yet come again, 
Dear dreams, to haunt my lonely attic — 

Dear days long gone 

Still, still live on 
In visions baseless, but ecstatic ! 

'Tis Christmas Eve, 

Why should I grieve? 
The world has kindly hearts in plenty; 

Love holds its charm, 

And blushes warm 
The dimpled cheek of sweet-and-twenty. 

So Christmas cheer 

Must still be dear, 
Though small my portion of its treasure; 

A kiss, a joke, 

A quiet smoke. 
And lo! Fate's hand hath filled my measure. 

85 



Then, joy bells, chime ! 

Though thought and rhyme 
May idly drift, like floating feather; 

Yet still content 

With blessings sent, 
My heart and I jog on together! 



BESTOWALS 

Dear, I would be to you the breath of balm 
That sighs from folded blossoms, wet with dew ; 
The day's first dawn-ray I would be to you — 
The starlight's cheery gleam, the moonlight's 

calm; 
I would be as a pillow to your cheek, 
When toil is done, and care hath ceased to 

grieve ; 
I would be the dear dream your soul doth seek, 
The dream whose joy no waking hour can give. 

When strength is ebbing and the road is long 
I would be the firm staff, within your hand ; 
A pillar of cloud in the sun-beaten land, 
A pillar of fire, where night's black shadows 

throng, 
Last, at Death's threshold, tender, faithful 

—Nay! 
What need to tell that which heart's truth hath 

shown ? 
Is not all said, beloved, when I say 
"I love you" being woman, and your own? 



86 



LIFE'S MIRROR 

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave 
There are souls that are pure and true. 

Then give to the world the best you have 
And the best will come back to you. 

Give love, and love to your life will flow, 

A strength, in its utmost need. 
Have faith, and a score of hearts will show 

Their faith in your word and deed. 

Give truth, and your gift will be paid in kind 

And honor will honor meet; 
And a smile that is sweet will surely find 

A smile that is just as sweet! 

Give pity and sorrow to those that mourn. 

You will gather in flowers again ; 
The scattered seeds from your thought out- 
borne 
Though the sowing seemed but vain. 

For life is the mirror of king and slave 

It is just what we are, and do. 
Then give to the world the best you have 

And the best will come back to vou ! 



87 



TRANSLATIONS 



From the Spanish of Becquer 

THE DARK SWALLOWS 

The swift dark swallows, will they return, 

To hang their nests in thy balcony 
And again with their wings at thy window, 
yearn 

And flutteringly call to thee ! 
But those that stayed in their happy flight, 

To see our rapture, perchance to learn 
A song that might tell of love's delight — 

They will never relum. 

The young green vines, will they climb and grow 

O'er thy garden earth-wall, in timid hope 
Of thy greeting smile — and more gently so. 

Will their beautiful blossoms ope ! 
But those that trembled in mid-night dew^ — 

Whose drops were tears of a passionate day — 
No more shall their loveliness bring anew. 

Thy forgotten May! 

And thou. . . . Oh, thou ... as was God 
adored 

Before his altar, on bended knee 
As T have loved thee, and knelt and poured 

The soul of love's incense out to thee ; 
As I have loved thee . . . thou knowest how! 

Yet know this, also, — for bliss or bane 
In life or death, never shalt thou 

Be so loved again ! 



WHAT IS POETRY? 

\^^lat is poetry? you ask, 

While your blue eyes smiling look 
Through my soul — their open book — 

Can you ask? Ah, sweet, to me 
You are Poetry I 

From the Spanish of A Bequer. 



HER LOOK 

To-day the earth and the heavens broad, 
Smile and sparkle from pole to pole, 
The sun shines down in the depths of my 

soul 
With light that will last through eternity. 

To-day I saw her — she looked at me — 
To-day I believe in God! 



HER KISS 

For one of your looks the world, well lost ; 

For one of your smiles, Heaven's dearest 
bliss, 

For one of your kisses — ah me ! the cost ! 
What should I give for your kiss — your kiss ? 



92 



WHERE GOES LOVE? 

Sighs are air, and return to air — 

Tears are water — to water flow — 

Now tell me woman, where does Love go 

When Love is forgotten ? ah where ? ah where ? 



HER ROSE 

How can it live, the rose thou wearest, 
glowing 

LTpon thy burning breast? 
Never before was seen a flower growing 

On a volcano's crest! 



93 



From the Spanish of Bonalde 

FLIGHT 

Bird, that fliest out from earth 
Why dost thou return again? 

What is thy glad freedom worth 
If thou can't not far remain? 

Happy, happy bird! had I 

But the wings for which I yearn. 

Ah, how far, far would I fly, 
Never, never to return ! 

THOU AND I 

Thou art the muse, I am the lyre, — 
Thou art the sap, and I the tree, — 

I am the field, thou, the sun fire, 
That ripens me. 

I am the nest, and thou, the bird — 
The wave am I, and thou the flood, 

I am the brain where thought is stirred — 
Thou, the life-blood. 

I am the Earth, thou art the Heaven, 
I, shade — thou, light, I part — thou, whole 

I am the body that the soul may live in — 
Thou art the Soul ! 



94 



From the German of Heine 

RESIGNATION 

At first, I cried, "Dear God, I canot bear it, 
I cannot bear this bitter pain," — ^but now — 

Now, my sad lips are silent. I have borne it, 
Only, beloved, do not ask me how ! 

THE PARTING 

The note that seals our parting 
Though clearly writ and strong, 

Brings not my tears quick starting 
For, Sweet, thy note was long — 

Twelve pages, neat and clever, 

Prove thy decision true ; 
But, love, do lovers ever 

Thus write, or say adieu ? 

THREE GIRLS 

Two girls are my distraction, 
They vex me, day and night. 

The one, by her affection, 
The other by her spite. — 

Their blended power harasses, 
And makes my life forlorn ; 

One, by unsought caresses, 
And one, by frowns of scorn. 

Yet, there^s a third who haunts me — 
Charming both sight and sense. 

Nor love, nor hate, she grants me, 
Only indifference ! 

95 




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